And as I stood there stirring my concoction, I remembered all those childhood days with Grandma. It was our thing, making cowboy cookies, and she’d let me help her stir the ingredients, or drop the dough onto the cookie sheet with a couple of teaspoons, or simply be “quality control” as the cookies came out of the oven. I remembered all those days, running in with my cowboy hat and my stick-horse to grab a handful of those cookies before running out to go “ride the range.”

For a while, it was like it all came back to me, and I was watching my kid-self all over again. Hanging out in the kitchen with Grandma.

Memories like this are wonderful things, because, no matter what, you’ve got them with you. I am 24 years old, and I haven’t baked cookies with Grandma in ages. I doubt I’ll get the chance again.

But I remember. And I’ll remember every time I pull out that recipe for cowboy cookies.